Snickerdoodles
by outwriter18
Summary: As Hei waits for his target to appear, he suddenly finds himself falling to the influence of a flashback


Hei flipped absently through the book from where he had placed himself in the far corner of the antique shop, his back to the shelves, his front facing the door. Vaguely he wondered why an antique shop, of all things, would lay claim to a _cookbook_, but the thought was quickly drowned out, interrupted by the bug in his ear. Mao and Huang never quite seemed to realize just how distracting their childish arguing was. Over time Hei had learned to tune them out unless they spoke of something pertaining to the mission at hand, but this little "skill" of ignoring them did not change the fact that their nonsensical ramblings were irritating, to say the least. To anyone who bothered to walk by him, it would sound merely as though an invisible insect were buzzing in the vicinity of where he stood. They were the lucky ones; they couldn't hear the voices. Sometimes Hei really wished it was an insect that bothered him, and then all it would take to cut it off would be to smash it. Of course, he could always take the earpiece out, but if Huang ever found out about it he would have to suffer through another course of lectures. Typically Hei would just ignore whatever the man managed to get out in one insufferably long breath; however, in the long run it was simpler just to do nothing to warrant such a speech. Besides, things happened at the best and worst of times, and if he wasn't wearing the earpiece when and if these unexpected events occurred, the only thing that would result was an unnecessary risk and possible injury.

Glancing up as the door of the shop opened, a slight disappointment dropped his eyes back to the book. Any moment his target would swoop through the doors and Hei would be able to complete his objective and get "home", but until that time he had no choice but to continually be let down when it wasn't his directive who rang the bell above the door.

Leaning casually against the bookshelf behind him, Hei turned the page of his diversion and blinked. Somehow he had traveled completely through the breads and cakes, the appetizers and candies, and come straight to the cookies. But it wasn't this that caught his attention; it was the content of the pages—a certain, _particular_ page to be exact. On one page was listed several different recipes, such as peanut butter fudge cookies and the ultimate classic: chocolate chip, but the second page was reserved only for a portrait of a cookie he recognized. Before he could stop it, a flashback into a much different time invaded his mind.

At the point his flashback occurred, Bai was not yet a Contractor, and had never had snicker doodles before, she had however always wanted to try them. As a result, she talked about them to for days, exclaiming over the taste she had never tried until, finally, he had broken down and bought the recipe and ingredients needed. He'd baked them while she was gone, using their lousy excuse for an oven. It took him three times to get it right, for back then he hadn't been much of a cook yet and was still in the practice of it. Eventually his perseverance had paid off, and the result was sweet-smelling and soft, coated in a mixture of ground cinnamon and sugar. By that time he himself had grown tired of the taste of them. After all, it took sampling them to make sure they were any good, and he'd eaten too many—eaten too many of the failures—to truly enjoy them anymore. But when Bai appeared to review his handiwork the fact he himself didn't enjoy them didn't matter.

Her eyes had shone that day, her excitement and overall pleasure at his accomplishment an obvious emotion on her face. It had leaked from her every pore, lighting up the atmosphere. Her smile had been at its biggest, and she'd clapped her hands excitedly when he'd served her a plateful of the small round circles of cooked dough. At first she'd sat, inhaling the aroma that steamed from their warm surfaces. Then, carefully, she'd taken a bite.

It was obvious from the look on her face that she hadn't been expecting the flavor, but she had forced herself to continue smiling. She forced herself to eat them all. It was clear he would never have to make them again, and even though she insisted they had been magnificent, he'd known it was a lie. That day they both discovered her ultimate dislike for snicker doodles. But in the end it didn't matter whether she liked them or not.

Later, much later, after she'd become a Contractor, she had told him the harsh truth, that she had hated them, that whenever something bad happened, that tangy, cinnamon taste was the first thing that came to mind. She had always thought that no matter how terrible something seemed, it would never be worse than the aftertaste of a snicker doodle.

This knowledge, this confession of loathing, didn't bother him; after all, he had already known she disliked them. Of course, he had been somewhat surprised by the strength of her hatred for the cookie, but it hardly changed anything. Then he'd asked her that if she had hated them so much, why she had bothered eating them all. She could have thrown them away with his back turned, or right in front of him, it didn't matter which, but instead she had eaten them. Why?

She had watched him silently a moment, blinking every so often automatically. He had begun to think she wouldn't answer, when she finally spoke. "Because you made them for me," had been her closing reply, and before anything more could be said she had turned her back and walked away. All he had done was watch her go, feeling the moment as bittersweet. Much like a snicker doodle.

"He's coming, Hei," Yin's voice informed him melodiously, her sharp, high voice cutting easily through the low, toneless buzz of Mao and Huang's discussion, pulling him from his unintentional reverie.

"Watch your back," Huang said, suddenly all business. "I hear this guy's a real pain in the ass."

Looking up in time to see the bedraggled arrival, his approach announced by the toning bell above the door, Hei closed the cookbook and tucked it back in its place on the bookshelf, watching his target from the corner of his eye. He should know better than to reminisce while working, but that didn't stop the small smile that flashed briefly over his features. Coming and going quickly enough that it had almost never been.

Rewarding the cookbook with one last contemplative glance, Hei moved, following the man further into the antique shop.

Author's Note:

Here is a note of advice: if you ever find yourself baking for three hours, do not type in the meantime. This pathetic excuse is what comes of it…heh, yeah. Really though, I just wanted to write a short story and see what people thought. This kind of…popped…into my head. So here it is.

-Seriously though, this story has absolutely nothing to do with…anything, really; especially not JNMKJ-

Thanks for reading!


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